


The Theatre

by Hours_Gone_By



Series: The Adventures of Student!Jazz and Wizard!Prowl [4]
Category: Transformers - Aligned Continuity Family, Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wizards, Developing Relationship, Horror, M/M, Magic, May/December Relationship, Multi, Other, Reunions, Slow Burn, Theatre, Wrongful Imprisonment, movies - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-21 18:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17048069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hours_Gone_By/pseuds/Hours_Gone_By
Summary: Jazz just wanted to explore the empty theatre for the sake of curiosity. Of course, ever since he met Prowl, nothing is quite that simple.





	The Theatre

Jazz loved empty theatres. Oh, sure, he loved them more when they were full, and a performance was in full swing, but there was just something about ‘em when he was the only mech there. It was an eerie, melancholic feeling, of a place that should have been full but was empty.

Today, he’d slipped into the oldest theatre on campus, which was unlocked but rarely used, just to have a look around before the rest of his Acting III class showed up for rehearsal. Their class’s year-end performance was usually in one of the two larger halls, but this year one of those halls was shut down for restoration. The remaining one had gone to the Acting IV class.

The theatre they would use was small, maybe five hundred seats or so. The acoustic panelling along the walls was elegant and subtle, the industrial fabric softened with the years. Jazz tapped it: clean, not dusty. The seats were slightly broader and deeper than modern ones: he sat down in one and wriggled, testing. Nice. He tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling, which was high, arched, and richly decorated. He wanted to run his fingers over the mouldings, examine the murals high, high, above the stage, to turn on the massive chandelier and watch the crystals glow. Sadly, he only had so much time if he wanted the place to himself while he explored and there were still the boxes and the balcony to visit.

Jazz poked through the boxes, cheerfully ignoring the ‘off limits’ signs, then swung back through the lobby to get to the balcony. He tapped a quirky little rhythm on the handrail as he strode up the ramp to the balcony, idly thinking that this was the kind of place Prowl would like. The balcony was deep and steep and featured the same seats as below and, of course, the marvellous ceiling.

He wandered back out through the balcony entrance opposite the one he’d entered and noticed a door marked ‘Employees Only.’ Reasoning that as a future performer in this space he qualified as an employee, he tried the door and found it unlocked.

Curious now, Jazz followed the narrow, undecorated corridor as it looped along and behind the balcony. It led to another door, also unlocked, and Jazz opened it to find a control booth-slash-projection room. Two-dee and holo movies and live theatre in the same space. Cool.

A cabinet along the right-hand wall of the room held unused equipment and a series of data slugs that, given the amount of dust, Jazz devoutly hoped were not also mecha. Nothing else in the room was that dusty and Jazz wondered why. He examined the tech in the room, a mix of antiquated and – well, it was a _university_ theatre, so, _less_ antiquated equipment, then circled back round to the cabinet. Without opening the cabinet, which had a simple mechanical lock, he skimmed the titles etched on the sides of the data slugs. He recognized them all as classics, except one. That one was down in the bottom right-hand corner, slightly larger and older-looking than the others.

Jazz had been housesitting over the summer when he had met Prowl, a wizard who was hunting a weird creature that fed on dreams Jazz had unknowingly been sharing the house. Prowl had destroyed the wight, then stayed a few days at the house. Nothing had happened between them at the house despite their intense mutual attraction. Jazz had gone back to school, Prowl had sent a courting gift, then showed up on Jazz’s doorstep without warning, providing the best surprise of Jazz’s life. They’d begun seeing each other, taking things slow. Prowl had recently bought a house and was due to move in – and spend the night with Jazz for the first time! – two mega-cycles from now.

The dinner date had involved banishing a noise of poltergeists in the basement of Prowl’s hotel. The house had had a cursed mirror that had driven the previous occupants away, and Prowl had cleansed it during his and Jazz’s viewing of the house. Jazz wasn’t even surprised, at this point, to see a glyph from what he called Prowl’s Wizard Alphabet etched into the older-looking data slug. He took an image capture and fired up his comm suite.

‘ _Hey, babe…’_

***

Jazz’s class was mid-rehearsal when Jazz noticed Prowl sitting in the middle-back of the orchestra level. The scene his class was rehearsing was only halfway finished so Jazz couldn’t acknowledge him yet, but Jazz was very aware of being watched. It wasn’t his first time in front of an audience so he shouldn’t have been, but, well, this was Prowl.

“Who’s that in the seats?” Crosscut wanted to know when the teacher/director told them to break for the day.

“That’s Prowl,” Pulse answered before Jazz, who’d been answering a question from Chorale, could. “You know, the weird dude Jazz is seeing?”

“Oh, didn’t know what he looked like.” Crosscut looked appraisingly out at Prowl, then turned back to Jazz. “He’s not a student, is he?”

“Nope.” Jazz didn’t offer any more information than that. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what to tell people about Prowl. ‘Wizard’ was right out and he didn’t know enough about Prowl’s past to offer anything else.

“He seems intense,” Chorale commented. “Is it serious?”

“Yeah,” Jazz said, watching Prowl rise and walk toward the stage. “It’s pretty serious. I’ll see you all tomorrow, okay?”

Jazz hopped down from the stage and was greeted with a quick smile and a sweet, chaste, kiss.

“Hello Jazz,” Prowl said warmly, taking Jazz’s hands. Prowl glanced up at the stage, where a half-dozen students were pretending not to watch them. “Pulse, Chorale.” He hadn’t been introduced to the others. “…Jazz’s friends.”

A small chorus of ‘hey’s and a ‘heya, Prowl’ answered him, and he seemed to think that was enough, transferring his attention back to Jazz.

“I didn’t expect you to come by so soon,” Jazz said. Prowl tilted his head curiously.

“You called me,” he said simply, as if that were reason enough for him to drop everything and come to Jazz. The thought that maybe it _was_ made Jazz’s spark spin just a little faster.

“So I did,” Jazz agreed. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

They were halfway across the balcony when Prowl murmured, “hm, interesting,” for no discernable reason.

“What is?”

“The energies.”

Okay then. Prowl had that abstracted air that said he thought he’d explained everything. Jazz thought, and not for the first time, that Prowl had spent way too long in the wilds alone.

“Elaborate on that for me, darling?” Jazz prompted.

“Surely you can feel it.” Jazz could tell Prowl was frowning, even though his lover was behind him. “You’re a musician.”

It wasn’t the first time Prowl had connected Jazz being a musician with magic or the supernatural. Best Jazz could tell, Prowl thought he should – or did – have some sort of increased awareness because of it. But if that were the case, shouldn’t Jazz have been picking up this stuff even before he’d met Prowl? It didn’t make sense.

“Prowl, m’mech, one day we are gonna have to sit down so you can explain whatever it is you think is supposed to be going on with me.” Jazz opened the ‘Employees Only’ door and headed for the control booth.

“Yes, of course,” Prowl answered absently. Jazz glanced back and saw the wizard running his fingers over the wall, then rubbing his fingertips together and frowning at them. It was as though he were checking for dust or-or residue of some kind and Jazz had seen him do that before.

“Prowl,” Jazz said slowly, putting things together and getting a sinking feeling as they approached the control booth door, “did something happen here?”

“Yes. Something opposite to this building’s purpose.”

“What – “ Jazz broke off and thought on that for a second. The building was a theatre, designed to generate energy and provoke emotions in the audience. It was about creating an experience for the audience and the actors, unifying them in it. So something had happened to…restrict that somehow? He changed the question he’d been about to ask. “What could have done that?”

“I’m unsure. It was quite some time ago.”

Jazz’s thoughts went back to the old-style data slug he’d called Prowl here over. “Maybe eighteen thousand meta-cycles?” he asked as he let them into the control booth.

“Approximately, yes.” Prowl zeroed in on the cabinet with the data slugs as soon as he was through the door. He crossed the room, crouched down in front of it and stared at the data slug etched with the Wizard Alphabet glyph. “Is there a key?”

“Don’t see any, but…” Jazz did see a tool chest. It was small, probably just used for minor repairs, but it had a couple of small pieces of stiff wire in it. “Gimme a nano-klik. My mentor taught me this.”

Jazz slid the wires into the cabinet lock, which was hardly high security, and picked it. Just where Half-step had acquired this skill Jazz wasn’t sure and had never asked. His mentor had a lot of skills and contacts you wouldn’t expect a piano player to have and he’d passed them on to Jazz.

“Thank you, dearspark,” Prowl said, petting Jazz’s leg affectionately. The wizard had been getting handsy lately, and Jazz _liked_ it. Prowl picked up the data slug between thumb and forefinger and examined it. He read off the glyph: “ _Recondantur_.”

Jazz’s Ancient High Cybertronian wasn’t stellar, but he’d done some reading in his spare time and recognized the word. “Means ‘locked away’ or ‘stored,’ doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

 “Is that thing connected to what you picked up in the hall?”

“Perhaps.” Prowl seemed to understand that he wasn’t explaining things sufficiently because he elaborated. “I am trying to determine that right now. It’s – difficult to explain, and I hesitate to speak before obtaining certainty of at least ninety-five percent.

“Of course, I am more than capable of simultaneous conversation and analysis. I’m simply unaccustomed to having to include another when I work.”

Yeah, Jazz’d noticed. “Okay, and I get that, but if you could just, I guess, tell me when you’re analyzing or something instead of going all non-verbal on me?”

“Yes, of course.” Prowl touched Jazz’s hand by way of apology. “But to answer your question more firmly, yes, I believe this is connected to what I picked up in the hall. This device has been used as containment for more than mere data, then locked away. Most would never even notice it was there.”

As it had been for eighteen thousand meta-cycles. Jazz had a horrible thought. “That data slug – that isn’t a mech, is it?”

Prowl stood, still studying the data slug intently. “No. It has always been inanimate. However – “ Prowl, surprisingly, hesitated and glanced over at Jazz. “This will upset you, and I am sorry, but you did ask me to explain things.”

“Go on,” Jazz said, slowly.

“It may _contain_ a mech. As, for lack of a better term, data.”

“But,” Jazz frowned, “there’s no way a spark fits in there. I mean, is it just a copy of someone’s mind?”

“Not precisely. I think it may contain the entirety of a mech – frame, spark, and all. Digitized, for lack of a better term.”

Jazz paused on that one for a bit, then gave up trying to figure it out. “Mech, no offence meant, honestly, but magic is weird.”

Prowl laughed softly, unoffended. “You aren’t wrong.”

“So, how do we check and see if it’s – “ Jazz waved a hand at the data slug. “Someone.”

“I need a way to safely scan the data. The prison itself may contain the key.”

“Not going to plug it into your own systems, I hope.”

Prowl shook his head. “No. I will try a standard terminal. The slug may be old, but I believe the connectors are still standard.”

“There’s a terminal in the other corner we can use,” Jazz told him. “Hope we don’t fry it – though better it than you. What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then I’ll take it to my workshop, once that is set up, and attempt to determine the contents using more esoteric methods.” Prowl walked over to the terminal, brushed some dust from it – the cleaning drones hadn’t exactly been doing an outstanding job – and switched it on. “While I’d rather free whoever is in there, if that is the case, sooner rather than later, three mega-cycles in eighteen thousand meta-cycles won’t make a difference. But I don’t believe that will be necessary.”

“Hope not.”

The terminal booted up slowly as if it were protesting its use, but finally, grudgingly, yielded a user interface. Prowl plugged in the data slug and waited for the terminal to cough up the filenames. Jazz figured Prowl would be doing his thing for a bit, so he wandered over to the booth’s window and looked out over the theatre. He could see the whole balcony, the stage, and the first couple of rows of the orchestra level. Crosscut, Downbeat, and Chorale were sitting in the front rows, leaning close together and chatting. Well, maybe more than that, given the way Crosscut was leaning into Downbeat’s personal space and Chorale was running her fingers over his chest. Crosscut and Chorale were together and, if Downbeat played his cards right, about to put the lucky mech in the middle of an enjoyable sandwich indeed. Jazz and Prowl hadn’t had the ‘want to play with others too?’ conversation yet but Jazz had a feeling Prowl was the monogamous type. Time enough for that later. Jazz was enjoying the ‘focused on/can’t keep my hands off you’ phase right now.

“Jazz?”

“Yeah, babe?” Jazz asked, going back over to Prowl. He rubbed the back of the wizard’s neck, absently, just for the feel of Prowl’s frame under his fingers.

“I’m still unsure of who or what may be imprisoned in the device,” Prowl told him, “but I don’t believe it to be harmful. I think I can release it quite easily. I’ve encountered this form of magic before. Not in this medium but the theory should be the same. Can you operate the projector?”

“Yeah, should be able to.”

Jazz preferred his performance art live, but he’d had a basic film theory class first year that had covered the equipment. He took the data slug from Prowl and went to examine the projector. Looked simple enough: turn on the projector, plug in slug, press ‘play,’ sit back. There was a timer option too.

“Hey, want me to delay the start of this by two kliks or so. We can get out to the auditorium before it starts, in case anything comes up you need to handle.” Jazz offered.

“Yes, very good. Thank you, darling.”

Before he got the projector running and the movie ready, Jazz looked out the window again to check on his classmates. Down in the seats Chorale slid into Downbeat’s lap and Crosscut wrapped an arm around Downbeat’s shoulders from behind and murmured something to him. A half klik passed and, just as Jazz was beginning to wonder if he’d have to find a way to get them out lest he and Prowl see a different show than the one they were planning, Downbeat surged to his feet with a laughing Chorale in his arms. Downbeat set her down on her feet, and the three of them headed out, arms wrapped around each other.

Good. Prowl could be difficult enough to explain on his own, Jazz didn’t want to explain why ‘you and your sweetspark disappeared upstairs and a few kliks later a movie did something super weird.’

Jazz set the movie to start in five kliks, and they went back down to the orchestra level, settled into seats about halfway back. Not the way he’d pictured their first movie date but not exactly surprising.

“I’m going to focus on the film,” Prowl explained as it began. “I think playing it should release the trapped being, but I have seen instances where assistance was required.”

“Thanks,” Jazz said, for the explanation. Prowl stroked Jazz’s fingers once with one of his then fell still and silent.

The movie looked strangely flat even for a two-dee flick, and the colours were surprisingly muted. Jazz didn’t get what could make it look like that but now wasn’t the time to ask. It seemed like it was shot from the perspective of someone looking for something. Someone? It looked like they were in an alley, or a narrow hallway with a high ceiling, Jazz couldn’t tell. Either way, it looked like they were in a t-shaped junction because another alley ran perpendicular to the one the camera or mech was standing in. There was no sound, which was weird. Even experimental movies usually had some form of audio.

The scene stayed the same for a long klik, then the mech, if that’s whose viewpoint they were seeing, seemed to shift slightly, just a tiny change in the framing of the picture. The shadow of a small mech, smaller than a minibot, appeared, crossing the t-junction. A black-and-white mini-cassette in root mode dashed into the t-section, optics wide with fear. They were running too fast and too loud for someone being hunted and made the mistake of pausing to check down the alley. The camera seemed to zoom in on them – maybe the mech getting closer to the little guy – and the mini-cassette held up its hands as if to ward them off.

Prowl got up, darting down the aisle and vaulting up on the stage. He reached – Jazz reset his optic feed in disbelief, but no, Prowl really had _reached_ _into_ the film. The wizard grasped the mini-cassette by the hand and pulled.

The mini-cassette stumbled, but Prowl caught and steadied them, helping them to sit on the edge of the stage. The movie stopped, no fade-out or credits, just quit. Jazz ran up to the stage and ‘spaced a spare cube of energon, handing it to the little mech, who was visibly swaying.

“Hey there,” Jazz said gently. “Easy. Here…fuel up.” He didn’t know if the mech needed fuel or not but remembered from somewhere that doing normal things like fuelling could help with shock. Getting hauled out of a movie you’d been trapped in would cause that, no question.

“Th-thank you,” the mini-cassette said shakily and took a deep drink. “What happened? Where was I?”

“You were magically contained as part of a movie and stored on a data slug for perhaps eighteen thousand meta-cycles,” Prowl explained, as if things like that were an everyday occurrence for the wizard. For all Jazz knew, maybe they had been, once.

“What’s your name?” Jazz asked, seeing a wide-opticked ‘what the frag?’ look creeping over the little mech’s face.

“Oh, I-I’m Rewind.” Rewind pinged them an RFID: Rewind of Kalis, archivist, he/him pronouns. Jazz returned the ping with his own RFID and hoped Prowl remembered to do the same. “Where am I?”

“Crossfade School of Performing Arts at Altihex University,” Jazz told him. “Sound familiar?”

“Not – really? The Altihex University part does but not the rest. I was – I _was_ in Altihex, but – “ Rewind shook his head and stared into his energon.

“Do you remember anything of what happened to you?” Prowl asked.

‘ _Crouch down or something,_ ’ Jazz messaged him. ‘ _He’s tiny. You’re looming._ ’ Prowl sent him an acknowledgement glyph with a gratitude marker and sat down cross-legged on the stage.

Oblivious to the private comm, Rewind shook his head again. “Not really? I remember…running but not why. I remember being chased but not by whom. I – it’s all in my databanks somewhere, but I’m having trouble accessing it.”

“Do you require a medic?” Prowl inquired.

“No, not a medic. I need to – to find Blaster,” Rewind said, voice steadier now, lowering the drained cube. “My host. He’ll have the others,” other mini-cassettes, Jazz guessed, “with him, I hope.”

“There’s a Blaster that teaches Advanced Mutli-Dimensional Music Theory,” Jazz suggested. “Sound system alt, some symbionts.” Jazz downloaded Blaster’s public ID from the campus DataNet and transmitted it to Rewind. “This your mech?”

Rewind’s optics unfocused briefly as he accessed the information, then the mini-cassette brightened with relief. “That’s him. That’s him!” Rewind got up, maybe just a little unsteady from not having been, well, corporeal for the best part of eighteen thousand meta-cycles. Jazz helped him down off the stage. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I’m going to try and comm him, I hope he hasn’t changed his frequency.”

“We’ll give you some space.” Jazz assured him and walked to the other side of the auditorium. Prowl rose and followed, pacing along the stage until he reached its end and then jumping down to land lightly beside Jazz.

‘ _You are a much better judge of reactions than I,_ ’ Prowl said over comms. ‘ _Do you believe him when he says he cannot access the relevant data?_ ’

Jazz sent the glyph equivalent of a shrug. ‘ _Yeah? I mean, I don’t know much about being converted to data and back again, but it’d probably scramble you pretty good. Plus, from what we saw, he’s probably pretty traumatized. No surprise it’d do a number on his memory._ _Why? D’you think he’s hiding something?’_

‘ _Yes.’_

 _‘Do mecha normally have good recall when you pull them out of storage media?’_ Jazz made sure to add markers to his glyphs so that Prowl wouldn’t think he was being sarcastic. Although, he wasn’t entirely sure Prowl would notice sarcasm or at least pay it any heed.

_‘It is generally better, yes. Though usually they are trapped in books: perhaps it’s simply due to the format.’_

_‘Or that we’re strangers,’_ Jazz suggested. ‘ _Plus, he didn’t ask how you pulled him free. I’d say wizards aren’t a total surprise to this guy, and he doesn’t know whose side you’re on. Can’t blame him for not spilling right away. Give him your comm, let him spend time with Blaster, get back on his feet, maybe we’ll have better luck.’_

Prowl nodded thoughtfully. ‘ _That is reasonable. Thank you, dearest.’_ Out of Rewind’s potential sight, he took Jazz’s hand, giving the fingers a light, affectionate squeeze. ‘ _As always, I value your insight. Very much.’_

Jazz would’ve hugged him except there was still Rewind to deal with. Jazz didn’t think Prowl’d be into PDA in front of strangers, so he sent the glyphs and markers that held the intent instead. Prowl didn’t reply, exactly, but his optics went just a little bit soft in that way that was just for Jazz.

Over on the other side of the auditorium, Rewind slumped noisily back against the front of the stage. He was silent, presumably speaking over comms, and had his hands over his face.

It wasn’t exactly good manners, interrupting someone holding a private conversation, but Jazz went over and touched Rewind on the shoulder to get his attention.

“You alright?” Jazz asked, concerned.

Rewind lowered his hands just a little and nodded, optics shining brightly. “I am. Yes. He’s _here_. He’s here, and the others are here and – and he’s on his way. I – _we_ can’t thank you enough. If only I could remember what happened and why I – “

Prowl had approached them silently, though Jazz wasn’t startled to find him nearby when he spoke. “It could be useful in determining how the spell that held you was worked. You have my comm frequency now,” he’d have transmitted it while speaking of course, “if you do remember anything, please contact me.”

“I will, yes, of course.” Rewind was practically jittering out of his armour with anticipation. “They’re – the others are almost here, Blaster sent them on ahead. I should go wait for them in the lobby.”

Jazz smiled at him. “Go on, mech.”

Rewind was off like a shot, almost too fast for the automated doors, which closed quickly yet silently behind him. The auditorium’s soundproofing was not quite enough to mute what sounded like at least three small mecha embracing at speed. A klik later there was another, smaller, clang – Blaster joining the reunion, Jazz guessed. He put an arm around Prowl, and the wizard leaned into his side.

“You did good,” Jazz told Prowl. “Not how I pictured our first movie date,” Prowl preferred live entertainment as well, “but I’m starting to get used to that with you.”

“Perhaps we should try again,” Prowl suggested. “In seats further back, with a film that requires less attention?”

Heh. Prowl only _looked_ innocent. Jazz grinned at him. “Suggesting we should go make out at the movies, darling?”

Prowl nodded once in acknowledgement. “It is a time-honoured tradition, I believe?” His hand was warm on Jazz’s back, moving slowly over his armour.

“It sure is,” Jazz agreed, accessing showtimes over the DataNet. A couple of action flicks looked promising.

Prowl’s fingers found the edges of Jazz’s back plating, stroked with just enough pressure to make him shiver. “Then let us, by all means, observe tradition.”

**Author's Note:**

> The names of Jazz’s classes come from Dalhousie University’s [BA in Theatre with Honours (Acting)](https://www.dal.ca/faculty/arts/school-of-performing-arts/programs/theatre-programs/acting.html) program at the Fountain School of Performing Arts. The fact that they come from Year Three – The Transformation Year is coincidental; Jazz isn’t in his final year but I needed him to be far enough along to perform.
> 
> For the style and deco of the theatre I’m picturing a Cybertronian version of the fabulous Capitol Theatre in Moncton, New Brunswick, Canada. You can take a [virtual tour of the auditorium here](https://www.capitol.nb.ca/en/your-capitol/item/8-virtual-tour). Mind, this is fused with the shape of the auditorium of Neptune Theatre in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada plus a couple of cinemas I’m familiar with.  
> 


End file.
